


Vodka

by Lightcudder



Series: Moonlight and Vodka [3]
Category: UFO
Genre: Friendship, Impending Death, Memories, Moscow, Torture, Vodka, physical injury, suffocation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:56:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightcudder/pseuds/Lightcudder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Straker takes a trip to Moonbase with SHADO's newest recruit, but due to recent UFO activity, the journey is likely to end in disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  **1**

‘One UFO, Commander. Travelling slowly.’

‘Exactly how slowly  Lieutenant?’  Straker’s hand  rubbed the bristles on his jaw. The sixth incursion in twenty-four hours. He wondered if it would end the same way as the other five. In failure.

Different approach patterns, different speeds, different directions. There was no consistency to any of the attacks.

‘Speed S.O.L. zero decimal five.’ There was a pause, ‘It’s increased speed ..,’  Another pause, longer this time. ‘It’s  changed  course Commander. Now  following the Earthbound lunar module.’

Silence. He clenched his fingers.

‘Moonbase to control.  UFO has retreated.  Out of range now.  Interceptors returning to base.’

‘Thank you  Moonbase. I want a full report by the end of the shift.’ Straker withdrew to his office.  His long-abandoned coffee had  scum on the surface and  he flung it away before pouring  a fresh one.  Then he waited.

 

‘Another red herring?’ Alec Freeman finished reading the file  and  put it down. ‘What the hell were  they up to this time?’

‘I don’t know Alec, I really don’t. There’s been nothing for the last ten hours.’ Straker studied  the  chart  on his desk, his fingers tracing over lines that designated lunar flights. ‘We know they  didn’t get close enough to drop a bomb, or plant anything in a crater. The trajectories were random. The last one trailed a lunar module for a short time before it retreated. The crew didn’t report anything untoward, but they’ve both been checked by the medics.’ He picked up the folder and  leafed through it again, before tossing it on the table with a grimace of disgust. ‘Nothing.’  He let his eyes flicker over his watch. ‘And Leonov is due soon.’

‘Look, go home. You’ve been here long enough and it’s quiet. I’ll look after Dimitri  when he comes in. He’s only got a few  more days to go and if I need you I’ll call.’

……………..

‘Morning Paul. Is  he in  yet?’ Alec Freeman walked over to stand  at  the console where Foster was watching a radar trace. 

‘Been and  gone a couple of hours ago. In fact I can tell you exactly where he is,’ Paul said and placed the tip of one  finger on the screen. ‘There.’ He stepped back and grinned at Freeman’s surprised expression.

‘You’re telling me that Ed Straker is on his way to Moonbase? He didn’t mention that in  yesterday’s briefing. What’s the emergency?’  Freeman said as he studied the monitor.

‘No emergency. Leonov was scheduled on the flight and Straker decided to go with him. Said he wanted to make a quick inspection.’ Foster shrugged his shoulders. ‘I think he was looking forward to getting away actually.’

‘He hasn’t been to Moonbase for a while.  Still, it’s not like him to ….’ Alec paused. 

‘Stop worrying, Alec. He’s only human. This is just what he needs, a few days furlough. I think he  wants to help  Leonov settle in. And...’ Paul waved a hand at the control room.  ‘We’re monitoring the flight. So relax.’ He grinned again and turned back to observe the radar screen once more.

.......  

Straker squeezed into the tiny passenger compartment of the Lunar module and  dropped  his bag on one of the spare seats before he  turned to look  into  the flight deck. Dimitri was close behind the commander, a flush of anticipation  on the Russian’s face as he entered the craft and proceeded to stash his luggage with care. Straker remembered his own enthusiasm on his  first visit  to Moonbase. It was a feeling that had not diminished over the years.

‘Welcome aboard Colonel.  I’ll let you get started. Grant won’t let you pilot during release or landing but  he’ll show you the controls while we’re in transit.’ Straker lowered himself into the passenger seat nearest the door.  ‘First flight. I think you’ll enjoy it.’  He waited as Leonov slid the door shut. It was a long time  since he had last piloted  a  module. Not too difficult a task for someone with astronaut training and flight experience but there were precious few opportunities now for him to take the controls. He was too senior, too valuable in some respects and the propriety  of his position had to be respected, but  deep down  he envied Leonov; a  maiden voyage and a new world waiting out there.

He fastened his  seatbelt and recalled  his first flight in a command capsule. A long time ago, yet the memories of his time in NASA had not waned. He could still recall  the pressure of the  crewman’s foot as it  slammed onto his shoulder to  crush  him down in his seat, and the way   his breath  expelled  in one gasping ‘whoosh’ as the  straps were tightened with almost vicious force.                              

But this trip was  civilised and unadventurous; just another commercial flight with  his case in the locker, a restraint harness that was loose on his shoulders and a reclining chair.  All the luxuries of a  business class cabin. 

Just ... smaller. 

He managed a quick check of the cabin before he  hunched lower in the  narrow seat.  The  unbroken walls of the small passenger section curved  over as if  seeking  to crush him and the  small cabin seemed  airless and stifling.  He unfastened his jacket to pull the rollneck of his sweater  away from his throat for a moment, his fingers trembling, then  he forced his hand to  lie flat on the armrest, pushed the panic  away and  concentrated on his breathing.

The vibrations alerted him and he settled back to  wait for that initial upwards thrust of lift-off.  Over the years he had become adept at distinguishing the  slightest  change in the resonance of the engines. There. The wheels lifted.

Not long now. He would be back  in space soon enough and there would be chance for him  to  work once they had reached the stratosphere and disengaged. Straker closed his eyes. He could no longer see the walls.

.........................

Leonov let his fingers rest with the lightest of touches on the controls and sighed with what might  have been  disappointmenthis was not how he, as a wide-eyed  child and later as an adult,  had  envisaged a flight to the Moon. There should have been  Mission  Control and a launch sequence,  the thrill of a  count-down and the tremendous vibrations of  massive engines thrusting  him up through the atmosphere. But instead he had experienced a gentle vertical take-off and now they were gaining forward speed with only a vague sensation of  movement.

He glanced at Grant and saw the man focussed on watching the instruments.

He  settled back and relaxed as the module disengaged from the Carrier. It did not matter that this journey had started with something of an anti-climax; he was on his way to the Moon and he wondered if he would ever become blasé about  his destination. Outside the window the sky was darkening from blue to navy and black.  The curve of the Earth appeared and despite  all his experience and his training  in Arctic Warfare and espionage  Dimitri Leonov could not suppress a  smile  of delight.

Space. It was  like being a small child again.

.................

Straker shut down  his netbook. is work had distracted him enough to forget   the confines of the cabin for  the first half of the journey, but now he  stretched  to ease the tension in his shoulders and  winced as the stiff joints cracked. He had managed to contain the strands of fear that had intruded into his thoughts, and he  had reminded  himself that the compartment  was nothing more than a room that he could leave  at any time. No matter that he did not have a viewport; the door was just there within reach and Leonov and Grant were on the other side. And outside the ship? Well, that was different. Who could get claustrophobic with space out there?

He unstrapped and eased himself out of the narrow seat, taking care not lose his centre of balance. It had to be the light gravity that caused the pounding in his ears. Not fear. He kept his head down and his eyes half-shut to avoid the oppressive grey vault that loomed so close and with a sigh of relief, he headed for the flight deck to watch Leonov at the controls of the Module. 

Straker would have remained there for the entire voyage regardless of the cramped space but it was time to prepare for landing. The Moon was growing large in the viewports, its craters sharp and defined as the craft neared its destination and he gave one last look through the viewport then lowered his head again and retreated to the solitary confines of the aft cell. He had forgotten his netbook. It lay there, on the seat next to his, waiting to be tidied away and he directed himself to the task, not looking around, his eyes staring at his hands, his mind refusing to acknowledge the curving bulkhead. 

The module would land soon. He would be fine. He began to fasten the buttons of his jacket but paused and undid them  before he  shrugged  out of it with  a sigh and rolled his shoulders to loosen them one last time. He did not stretch out. That would have brought his hands into contact with the walls on either side of him. He bent to lift his seatbelt clear.

.........

Owen Grant twisted his spine in an effort to ease the stiffness that made his body one huge ache. ‘Okay Colonel, I have control. Good work. You learn fast.’

Leonov lifted his hands from the controls and leaned back, flexing fingers that throbbed with the unaccustomed strain.  ‘What happens now?’

‘Once we’re in range, Moonbase takes over. I can do it under manual control but it’s safer using their computer. Hang on.’ Grant flicked a switch. ‘Commander; we’ll be landing in five minutes.’ He sighed and stretched his fingers. ‘This has been a quiet trip. Last one was a bit hairy. We had that UFO trailing us for a while and at one stage I  thought we weren’t going to make it, but...’ He shrugged and leaned forward to ease the controls with a deft touch but a sudden tremble jolted his fingers. Not for the first time either today. Tremors had affected his hands at odd moments throughout the flight although neither Straker nor Leonov had noticed.

He should have confessed to the distorted vision, the headaches, the trembling in his fingers  but for some reason he hadn’t,  as if something had persuaded him that it wasn’t essential. And he had passed the stringent medical after that last flightHe shook his head to try to dispel an unpleasant recollection  of a flash of light and a noise in the cabin, He clenched his fingers even harder in an attempt to make them obey him and to get them under some control. It was futile. If anything, the numbness increased. He glanced at the internal monitors and saw   Straker busy putting his paperwork away. Then a sideways look at the man in the seat next to him. Good.  Leonov was concentrating on the panel.  

Not much longer now and, once the computers had taken over, Owen could relax and pretend that nothing was the matter. Moonbase would land the module and he would have a couple of  days  to get over whatever bug was affecting him.

He stretched his   stiff  fingers once more  and wondered why they were white and bloodless and why his heart was fluttering and erratic. His head throbbed   with a tightness that threatened to overwhelm his senses but with determined concentration like a drunken man reaching for his last bottle, he   leaned forward to  flick the switches. His  fingers  felt taut and deadened. He had a  sharp moment of apprehension when he thought that he had miscalculated, but the console light went green  and with relief he heard the hissing emptiness  of the open radio link.

He heaved a sigh and leaned back. Enough of this foolishness; he would  report to sickbay once they were down and safe.  ‘Lunar Module to Moonbase Control, preparing to enter lunar orbit in one minute.’ He kept his  voice nonchalant, aware  that Straker might still  be listening.

‘Lunar Module, we have you on radar. Prepare to switch to automatic sequence on my mark.’ An everyday occurrence. Just one more landing  in  Moonbase’s  busy schedule.

Owen Grant checked  to make sure that Leonov was not touching the controls prior to the handover. It was his last ever look, his last ever conscious  action.

The  module eased  into lunar orbit, still under his control and  well out of range of the Moonbase computer. Then  a final tremor  surged through Owen Grant in one convulsive shudder. Straker,  reaching for his seatbelt and unsecured,  had no chance  as the pilot’s juddering grip on the  controls twisted the spaceship onto a new heading.

Without guidance or restraints the module careered from its course. It might have been coincidence that sent it veering into one particular satellite in the communications network, the primary link between Moonbase and all tracking stations.  They would never know.

With a jolt that reverberated through the entire craft, the module  crunched into the satellite .There was not even time for the module to be picked up  by sensors before the resulting explosion flung  it into  yet another  random course.

 

The lurch threw Straker  against  the wall then tossed  him with contemptuous  arrogance against the edge  of his seat before he crashed to the floor. His arm caught  the frame of the seat and a  crack echoed  through the cabin.  The small craft’s compensators overloaded under the strain and the  surge in  gravity  crushed him into the tiny passageway  alongside  the seats. He stretched out a hand to touch  the door, his  fingers sliding  down the  smooth metal as if hoping that it would be enough to make it open. The barrier remained closed.

With  a desperate effort  he  tried to lift himself up but it was hopeless. He could do nothing other than lie there pinned down with  one hand still extended but with his limbs crushed  under the force that imprisoned him, no longer able  to call out or to  lift his head from the floor. Then despite his  gasping attempts  to pull breathable air into lungs  that seemed paralysed his eyes darkened  and the remnants of his  conscious thoughts faded.

Over the intercom he could hear the  radio give one last feeble hiss of static, one last disjointed message...  ‘Moon.... Lun...... Come  in......,’  but there was no answer.

Then it cried  out with a hiss of shorting connections and  went silent.

The module continued on its tumbling  path into the darkness of the Moon’s shadow.  Lost to Moonbase. Lost to Earth.


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

‘Find it. I don’t care how you do it. Find it.’  Alec Freeman’s voice, even over the hiss of distance, was desperate.

‘Colonel, we are doing everything we can.  Everything. But when that satellite went, we lost track of the module. It could be anywhere by now. There are whole  sectors not covered by our sensors. FarSight is also affected. We’ve lost contact with them.’

There was a pause. ‘I know Nina, I’m sorry. It’s just that...’ Freeman’s haggard face stared at her. ‘Look. I’m coming out on the next flight so I can monitor operations from there. We need to find that module. We need to find the Commander and Dimitri.’ He gave Nina one last worried look. ‘Freeman out.’

Nina Barry  ordered the launch of  the  Interceptors; a futile action no doubt, but at least they would be ready.  Though for what, she had no idea. All she was knew was that a satellite had gone down, a module was lost to radar and that three SHADO members were missing and one of those was Ed Straker.

What else was there to do?  Nothing. Until they managed to locate that module. And then?  Well, then they  would deal with the ramification of that when it was found.   Nina  pulled out her console and began the slow and arduous task of calculating trajectories.      

 **2a**  

Someone was moaning. A gasping quiet moan as if the person couldn’t breathe well enough to make a decent job of it. Straker wished whoever it was would just shut up and let him drift back to sleep. That was all he wanted to do. Sleep. He was tired. God, so tired. It was too much effort to even think about opening his eyes. He drifted back into the welcoming darkness, still cursing the thoughtless individual who had disturbed his rest. He slept. The moans faded away.

**2b**

The sound that disturbed him this time was different.  More  a sharp intake of breath accompanied by a stifled cry, over and over. Each mouthful of air punctuated by that uncomfortable noise, as if the individual found it impossible to inhale without pain, without whimpers of fear escaping with every reluctant slow pulling of air into lungs that screamed for relief.  He would have fallen asleep again, but something heavy was sitting on him, its claws digging into his side, jagged and spiked. He lay still in the hope that it would  leave him alone so that he could plunge back into that drowsiness that fluttered at the edge of his thoughts.  The  muffled sounds dulled somewhat, the sharp claws retreated  a fraction and the  blissful  darkness enveloped him.

**2c**

The noise again. Those sounds of  distress, of discomfort. Why didn’t someone do something? Anything. Bloody hell. He was too tired for all this. Why couldn’t he have some peace and quiet. Some rest. That was all. Just to lie still in that shallow water’s edge between deep sleep and wakefulness and  enjoy the gentle rhythm of slumber washing  him in soft waves. He lay there listening to pulsing swish and rumble of waves  as they rolled over fine shingle.

There was a distant sensation of pain, as if somehow it had transferred over to him and was waiting there in the background.  He had a wrench of pity for whoever it was that was suffering but his own exhaustion and  his own haziness made  his thoughts selfish and he was only too glad to sink down under the warmth of the water that  caressed him.

**2d**

Alive.  The realisation bubbled into his  thoughts and  ruffled them into chaos. Then it kicked in. Fuck. The crash.  His head. His arm. Dear God. The   pain flared through him as if it had been a dammed flood of suffering that had only been held back by his continuing ignorance. He would have screamed again but he could not breathe, could not pull air into his lungs. He was suffocating, drowning. Panicked beyond endurance, his mind hazy and unresponsive,  he forced one deep intake of the  acrid air that surrounded him and tried to push himself up.   And was  jolted into consciousness with  the agony that slammed through his arm. Through his body.

He lay there,  unable to move,  unable to do anything  until those razor-sharp stabs of torture had subsided. His breath  wheezed   in shallow gasps that  measured the pain as it eased and he  remembered the increase in gravity and  being crushed against the seat,  the sound of  bones snapping. o surprise then, that  he hurt. He wondered what had happened; why no-one had come through to help. Then he wondered if  Dimitri and Grant were still alive.

The force holdinghim down relaxed its grip andhe lifted his head from where it had been crushed. The rough contact with the floor had scraped one side of his face and the skin felt raw. Training and survival instincts stepped in andhe ran through the checklist in his mind:gravity; slightly below normalas far as he could tell andlife support? Working. Otherwise hewouldn’t be here, trying to breathe.

It was too much. Despite every effort,his blurred eyesshut and he was powerless to stop theslide into welcome oblivion,heedless of duty, of responsibility, evenof strivingto stay alive.

**2e**

‘Ed, wake up.’ The voice taunted him. Sharp fingers poked to wake him from his dreams. ‘Can you hear me?’

He wanted  to reply, wanted to answer, but it was hard.  It meant that he would have to stir from that comforting haven of silence and stillness where pain had not yet entered. And he didn’t want to do that,  to face wakefulness again. It was so much easier to lie here and wait. He knew what was coming and the thought was somehow quite agreeable. He groaned again.

‘Straker. Listen to me. I need you to wake up.’ Nails dug into his face, his side, his arm; biting into  flesh.

‘Go away.’ Straker mumbled, his words stifled by pain in his ribs.

Talons dug deeper and  tighter,  scraping on bone. ‘Wake up Ed. Open your eyes. Don’t go back to sleep. Can you hear me? Commander?’ That final word settled in Straker’s mind.  Commander. 

Duty, responsibility, service. 

Commander Ed Straker forced unwilling awareness back into his body, into bruised ribs and aching muscles, broken and splintered bones. He  opened his eyes to glare  at his tormentor. There was no one with him. He was alone. ‘Dimitri?’ His voice was thick and as blurred as his mind.

‘Ed. I’m here.  Are you alright?’ The voice came from somewhere above him. The intercom. Dimitri. On the flight deck.

Straker lay still and let his   senses investigate his body,  becoming aware of the aches and twinges and tingling. Fragmented recollections intruded.  He had fallen or been thrown to the floor. His  side hurt, his arm as well.  He could see the frame of the seat close to his face, could feel the wall of the compartment close against his back, his legs twisted and cramped in the small access strip that led to the cargo hold. Such a small space. He needed to get up.  He needed to get out of here.

‘What happened?’ He was discomfited by  the tremble in his voice, the sound of his fear, but Dimitri did not appear  to notice.

‘There was an explosion. Grant is dead. I cannot get into contact with  anyone or get the controls to work. I need your help.’ There was a pause, the sound of banging and then Dimitri’s voice again.  ‘And the door will not open from this side.’

He  pondered the information with a mind that was busy analysing  the hurt and the horror of his situation. He would have to get up,  have to open the door, but he would have to do this on his own. The hard way.

It took him   longer to move than he had thought. Each  time he tensed his muscles  in preparation,  that  snap of  bone filled his mind. It was going to hurt. A lot. A hell of a lot. Over and over he geared his body  up for the first alteration of position, the initial move that would flood him with pain, but despite all his efforts his  limbs refused to obey.

Teeth clenched, he made a single miniscule shift. Just his right hand. One  tentative inch at a time  he pulled it to where he could see his fingers, see them and then, if he dared,  move them. One hand, that was all, but it was enough to stir him  from the deceitful desire to sleep.

Even that move exhausted him, but he persevered, moving first one finger then another until he could push himself up. The pain sharpened but he carried on, concentrating on getting himself off the floor and  ignoring the sharp bite of his ribs  whenever he breathed. An eternity passed before he  was sitting upright and   leaning  against the wall. He cradled his left arm and then dared to look at it. The hand tingled. He closed his eyes for a moment in dread.

It hurt even more to pull himself to his feet and he clung to the frame of the seat, sweating with the effort it had required before he stumbled against  the door. He leaned against the chill metal of the frame  as dizziness and nausea swept though him. His body betrayed him. He could not move. Could not take that next step and   feel the bone grate in his arm, feel the cold sweat on his face and the vomit rise in his throat. He would let himself slip down to sit on the floor. He would wait here. He could not do anything.

But he had to, and so he did.  He took a deep breath, welcoming the discomfort that brought his mind awake once more, and then tugged at the small hatch of the control panel. It refused to open. He would have slammed his fist on the wall in frustration, but he knew that it was futile. He leaned against the bare metal. Cold.  It chilled him and he pushed himself upright with the realisation that the cabin was getting colder, that it would soon be below freezing  and then….

In desperation he scrabbled at the small panel again and this time caught the edge with one fingernail. The cover drifted to the floor and he blinked to clear his  blurred eyes  as he  peered at the confusion  of wires.

‘Ed. What’s happening?’ Dimitri interrupted his concentration. Straker ignored him, wiping one hand across his forehead to clear prickles of sweat. He fixed his  mind on the wires,  trying to disregard the throbbing  of his arm or the sharp pain that  clawed at him  with every movement, trying  to forget that   that he was trapped in a tiny space and that if he could not get the door open he would freeze. He had to concentrate, to focus on the only thing that mattered.

The walls retreated and the pain dulled to a mere ache, but his fingers, numb with cold and feeling thick and useless, could only  fumble without success at the wires. And yet he could see exactly what was needed. Such a simple task. All he had to do was to short-circuit one connection. It was no good. He was trapped. He let himself lean against the  bulkhead once more, gasping with the onset of panic as claustrophobia swamped  his thoughts  and the  walls swirled in a haze of disorientation and terror.

‘Ed. Answer me. Are you alright?’ A shout this time, panic in the voice. Dimitri’s voice. Dimitri Leonov, whose   fists had slammed into   him all those years ago in that damp room, whose hands had  forced a glass between his lips to fill  his mouth, his throat, with vodka, whose  voice  had  threatened and cajoled Straker. Leonov who had appeared out of the gloom in that dingy Moscow bar to speak to Straker again  after so many years. There was sweat on Straker’s face now, even with  the chill of the cabin. Sweat on his lips, water on his lips. Drowning. He wiped across his mouth with his sleeve.

Cloth over his face.  He retched with the sensation, the memory. His  knees gave way and he sank down, his forehead pressed  against the door, the taste of acid  in his mouth. He spat it out.

The floor was hard under his knees, rough and gritted with shards that cut into his skin and as his world shifted, he put one  hand out in a futile  effort  to stop himself  falling.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was started a long time ago. (November 2010) It originally was going to be called Artemis, but I really wanted to give it the title ‘Vodka’. (Yes, I am anal about titles as well as about numbers.) It sat on unloved and ignored on several of my flash drives until January this year when I resurrected it and rethought the outline. I still intended Straker and Dimitri to get trapped in a damaged Module, and to explore their past and what was going to happen to them, but the ending, (which originally involved the ARTEMIS mission) will change to be more prosaic.


End file.
